


Little Beast

by mugglecastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on a Poem, Drunkenness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Night Stands, Photography, Slight pining, Swearing, Work In Progress, kind of sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugglecastiel/pseuds/mugglecastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little hook-up is just a little hook-up, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this one is a little weird so far. I'm posting it as I go along, so updates may be a little sparse at times. I needed a break from writing original characters, so I'm creating my own weird little universe in a weird little town with weird little happenings.  
> Just.. stick with me on this. I'll try my best to make it mean something. 
> 
> POEM FOR THIS CHAPTER: 
> 
> (Little Beast; Richard Siken)
> 
> 4
> 
> He had green eyes,  
> so I wanted to sleep with him—  
> green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool-  
> You could drown in those eyes, I said.  
> The fact of his pulse,  
> the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire  
> not to disturb the air around him.  
> Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,  
> the way we look like animals,  
> his skin barely keeping him inside.  
> I wanted to take him home  
> and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his  
> like a crash test car.  
> I wanted to be wanted and he was  
> very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving.

"I don't understand. What's the problem with that?" Dean asked, taking another swig of his beer. "So some hot girl flirted with you. Why are you so pissed?" 

"Because I've got a girlfriend!" Charlie complained as she slammed her bottle down with enough force to shake the table. "Jo would piss herself if she found out someone flirted with me!" 

"Well, did you flirt back?" Dean questioned. He tilted the neck of his bottle toward the tipsy red-head. "If you didn't flirt back, then you're good." 

"Well-"

"Charlie Bradbury!" Dean gasped. "You did not!" 

"Maybe a wink or two! I didn't purposefully do it," Charlie complained. "I didn't mean to. I can't just turn off the charm." 

"Whatever," Dean chuckled as he slammed down the rest of his beer. "I'm  gonna  get another. You want one?"

"If you  wanna  pay," Charlie replied as he walked away. 

Dean somehow maneuvered his way through the throng of people on the dance floor. As soon as he reached the bar, he smiled sweetly at the woman behind the counter and winked, raising two fingers. As the woman grabbed two beers and popped the caps off, Dean glanced off to the side. 

A man plopped onto the stool next to him and called for a beer as Dean handed the woman money. Dean's eyes wandered him up and down in curious attraction. The guy was completely disheveled. His hair was a mess. His eyes sparkled with excitement. His fingers tapped with the beat of the song playing over the speakers. His clothing was rumpled like he'd been dancing. 

Dean smiled and asked the bartender to stop as she picked up the bottle opener. He slid the second beer- the one meant for Charlie- across to the man and leaned against the wood counter. 

"Thanks," the guy laughed, holding up the bottle. 

"You've been dancing?" Dean asked, leaning over to be heard over the music. 

"Maybe a little," the guy replied, tilting his head to the side and smiling. "You haven't?" 

"Not really. I've mostly been coaching my friend over there on how much of an idiot she is." 

That pulled a laugh from the guy's lips. Dean smiled more and took a swig of his beer. For some reason, though, his eyes were glued to the guy in front of him. He was utterly fascinated in the way the guy tilted his head back when he drank from the bottle, in his lip placement, in the way he kept tilting his head like he was exposing his neck. 

"Why is she an idiot?" 

"Well, there's many possible answers to that question," Dean joked, cocking his head. "The most obvious one is probably how she's flirted with someone accidentally, despite having a girlfriend." 

"Oh, so you're not here with her?" The guy asked, turning in his seat to face Dean. 

"Not in the couple-y sense, no," Dean replied. He kept eye contact as he took a slow drink. "Are your eyes real?" 

A laugh dropped itself from the man's lips. "Well, I hope so. It would totally suck not knowing what you looked like." 

Dean grinned and glanced down at his feet. When he looked back up, he found the man staring at him in what looked like fascination. "Want to get out of here?" Dean asked softly. 

"My place is only a block away," the guy whispered, his eyes twinkling even in the dim light. "We could go there." 

"I like it. Come on." Dean took the guy's hand with narrowed eyes and a smirk. They wove through the crowd slowly, and just before they left Dean caught Charlie's eye. She seemed a little annoyed, but once she saw the guy on Dean's arm, she gave in and grinned. 

As he stepped into the cold night, he could practically hear her jeer of "Go get ' em , Tiger!" 

Mr. Rumpled looked even better in the moonlight than he did in the flashing lights of the club. Dean smiled and followed him, taking his time to check out the guy's ass. Talk about fucking sexy. His lips turned up in a small smile. God, he couldn't wait to let his fingers sink into the flesh under the denim.

He didn't know he was staring until the man stopped and slid a key into the deadbolt and opened up to a dark apartment. His eyes lifted. They'd gone up a flight of stairs and he hadn't even realized. Dean smiled at the guy and licked his lips. 

The action diverted the man's eyes and made him pull him into the apartment quickly. Dean grunted and closed the door behind himself. 

His hands were pinned against the door within seconds. Silky lips were dragging against the skin of his neck, then against his jaw, then breath ghosted against his lips. It entered his mouth, sweet with the scent of beer and something else that Dean couldn't place. A groan tore from his  throat and dripped off his lips. Hips pressed against his own. 

"Right against the door?" Rumple-sexy-skin asked. "Or on the couch? Maybe the floor?" With each question, his lips brushed past Dean's, pressing everywhere but the place where Dean wanted them. It was driving him insane. "What about the bed? Oh, there's the kitchen. The bathroom..." 

"Anywhere you'd fucking like," Dean groaned. "Just make it fast and make it good." 

The guy grinned. "I like that. Fast and good." 

Dean smiled and finally just pushed himself forward, making the guy stumble a little when he forced his hands away from the door. His palms landed on the guy's stubble covered cheeks and dragged him into a long, searching, heated kiss. Moans tore from both of them, followed by shirts, as they stumbled back toward the hallway. 

The sex god led Dean into a room that seemed like a bedroom and pushed Dean onto the bed, crawling over him and looking there for a minute before dropping down and kissing him harder than before. Dean's fingers worked at the guy's pants, and within seconds they were both disrobed. Skin dragged again skin, silky and rough and wondrous, growing more and more like a miracle as it went on. 

"Drawer," Sex-Hair finally whispered, pulling off of Dean's lips and hips as he started patting around frantically. "Condom. Lube. Come on-" Only a minute later, Dean heard a long, low groan. 

"You better not be getting off without me," he breathed, even as his own hand wandered further down his torso, dragging against his own hard-on, making his breath shake. 

"No- fuck-" the guy breathed. "I don't have any fucking lube. I've got a rubber, but no fucking-"

"So what?" Dean smirked, leaning up, hands on the guy's back. He let his hand slide to the guy's side, across smooth skin, and pulled the guy down onto his back. The grunt that came with the action made a grin spread across Dean's lips. "Who needs lube?" 

The condom moved from Mr. Hot Guy's hand into Dean's. He ripped it open and rolled it onto the guy, smiling when he felt him shiver. It was nice to know he could still do that to someone. 

Once that was on, Dean smirked and let himself settle between the guy's legs. His fingers dragged through the tendrils of hair around Sex God's cock, then found their way onto the guy's thighs. He let his lips press against the tip of the guy before he glanced up to see his companion staring up at the ceiling. 

"By the way," Dean whispered, his lips dragging against the rubber, "I'm Dean. Just so you know what to scream." 

Then he took the guy into his mouth. 

-*-*-*-

Turns out the guy was really talkative in bed. He cooed praises at Dean the entire time. Whispered "Oh,  Dean"s  and "That's  good"s  were settled into Dean's skin by sweet, soft lips. 

In the morning, Dean woke in an empty bed. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, looking around after he finally got all of the sleep out. His body hurt, but at least the room was pretty and bathed in shimmering light. 

A smile fell over his lips. He hadn't felt this morning after high in a long time. Years, actually. It felt nice. 

He sat up slowly, his back popping as he did. He rolled over off of his stomach and sat up the rest of the way, rubbing at his eyes as he glanced around the room again. 

The comfortable bed wasn't the only thing in the room. There was a nightstand by the head of the bed, stained dark to match the wooden frame of the bed. It contrasted with the pale green of the walls and matched the dark wood floor. Planning must have gone into the room to match the wood. The only light that came into the room flooded through the open blinds on a glass door that seemed to open up to a balcony. 

What the hell did this guy do for a living? And why was an apartment with sliding glass doors in the middle of the city, only a block from a club? 

Dean yawned widely and found himself sliding off of the bed to let his feet hit the cold floor. He stood and shuffled toward the pair of pants on the floor, only a little uncomfortable with being ass naked in some guy's apartment. 

His pants were rumpled and wrinkled, but he didn't mind. When Dean glanced back at the bed, he smiled a little. The adventures of the night before flooded back into his mind and made his tongue feel like cotton. Instead of mulling over the past, though, he stumbled into the hallway and rubbed at his head. 

When he finally found his way into the living room, he stooped to pick up his shirt. 

A low whistle came from behind him. Dean stood up slowly and smirked, turning around to find his little fuck-buddy standing behind him, leaning against the wall. 

"You know," his friend mumbled, "it's sometimes traditional to have another go in the morning." 

"Not in my book," Dean replied, tugging the shirt over his head and licking his lips. "Now, maybe a cup of coffee, a few minutes of small talk... That's normal. That's traditional." 

One foot in front of the other, Dean made his way to the guy and smiled. 

"How about a cup of coffee?" Sexy smiled back as he asked the question. 

"Sounds awesome." 

During their talk, Dean figured out that his tryst's name was  Castiel  and that he was a  photographer and writer for the local newspaper. Dean also admitted that he was a teacher with just a little too much time on his hands and mechanic job on the side. 

Silence settled over them, thick and suffocating. Dean licked his lips and looked down at his mug of coffee, some pale blue chipped cup full of black coffee, just the way he liked it. The steam of the coffee was long gone by now, but he could still feel it in his system. It was like it was coursing through his veins in place of his blood, light and airy and leaving the sensation of everything that it shouldn't. Concrete goop was streaming through his veins in place of the red liquid that should be there. 

He stood a little too quickly, masking it with a cough when the table wobbled. Odd, sparkling blue eyes looked up to him. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I- uh-" Dean stumbled over his words before settling for a nod. "Just... I've got to go. I forgot... something. I forgot something." 

"O-kay,"  Castiel  frowned, holding out the first syllable. "Well, I hope I see you again, Dean." 

"Yeah," Dean replied, voice a little wobbly. "You too,  Cas . Have a good day." 

Once he was outside, Dean dug into his jacket pockets. Where the hell were his pills? He had brought them last night just in case he ended up with someone... 

There. Hating the taste but knowing it was necessary, he exhaled slowly and downed one dry. 

His eyes remained closed for a moment as the concrete in his veins turned to normal. Dean couldn't believe it chose today of all days to act up. Anxiety had bad timing, but Dean didn't know what could have brought it on.

Maybe it had been the coffee... His doctor had told him to avoid caffeine, after all. He hadn't thought to ask  Castiel  if it was decaf. 

Dean sighed and shook his head. It was simply himself being an idiot again. He might as well just brush it off as that. 

With every step he took, he left  Castiel's  apartment in the dust. Every step he took felt like lead, too. It wasn't like a walk of shame- he'd had his share of those- because he didn't regret this one. Hooking up with this guy had felt right; it had even felt nice. Dean was liking looking back on the night. 

Outside of the club, his car was waiting. "Hey, Baby," he greeted the vehicle, his fingers trailing along the edge of the black door handle. "Everyone treat you nice when I was gone? I sure as hell hope so." 

When he shoved the key in the ignition and flipped the engine, she started purring like a kitten. His hands rested on ten and two, and Dean instantly felt at home. 

Then he reached his actual home- a cheap old rickety house, hard to afford at times, but cozy. It was small, relatively boxy, but more comfortable than anywhere Dean had ever been before. The doors stuck sometimes. The paint on the outside was chipping- something Dean really needed to get on- and the floors squeaked. The stairs into the basement were mostly just boards that were bound to give at any moment. 

But it was home. 

Dean slid off his shoes at the door, kicking them off to the side. They hit the navy painted wall with a thud. His hands slid into his jacket pockets to pull out the medicine bottle. He tossed it onto the table as he tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, then the sleeves of his shirt. Wood squeaked and groaned with his every step toward the bathroom. 

Dean dropped the clothing on the white tiles in the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the steady stream of hot water. 

A sigh left his lips as the water hit against his back. It felt like heaven. His eyes closed as he tipped his head back, letting the heat pound against his scalp. 

Words left his mouth, quiet singing simply because it was habit for him- ritualistic, in a way.

Today's choice was a rendition of Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones, including the guitar. His feet tapped out the drums, and his hips added the extra flare the song was missing. 

"I see a red door and I want it painted black," Dean belted, scrubbing soap into his skin. 

After Paint It Black came Hotel California. When the last note of the song was hit, Dean was out of the shower, working his way across the hallway into the bedroom. His hands curled around the tops of hangers as he shuffled through the closet for a shirt, throwing the hanger and shirt over to the bed once he found the right one. He tugged on underwear from his drawer, then tugged out any old pair of blue jeans and pulled them on. As he buttoned them and zipped the zipper, he walked over toward the bed. He dragged the beer logo covered t-shirt over his head. Replacing the hanger was natural, as was quickly making the bed once fully dressed. 

His anxiety pills gave him more energy than any dose of  Adderal  ever could, and Dean knew it. He'd taken the drug before. Compared to his pills for anxiety, it was nothing. Someone on  Adderal  could stay up all night and run a marathon the next day before crashing, but someone on Dean's meds could run four marathons and not worry about crashing until the anxiety returned. 

Once that happened, Dean was gone until he got another pill in his system. 

One time he'd run out of pills and it wasn't pretty. He'd been a mess. It hurt to even think about it. 

Luckily, his ringing phone distracted him. 

Barely a glance at the screen showed a familiar face. Dean grinned as he answered. 

"Sammy." 

-*-*-*-

Castiel  closed his eyes after Dean left, wondering what he'd done that was incorrect. 

All he knew was that he'd been making simple conversation, as he would with anyone, until Dean started to stare off into his mug, eyes wide. His fingers had been shaking, lifting off the mug. That's what sparked concern in  Castiel's  mind. His hand had reached out and rested on Dean's upper arm lightly. 

"Are you okay?" The words left his lips before he could stop them. 

Dean had stood with alarming speed, almost knocking the table over, and covered his sudden state with a cough that  Castiel  could see straight through. 

The words left his mouth again. "Are you okay?" 

Then the guy had left in a cloud of stuttering words. 

Castiel  remained at the small table, frowning at the now closed door, wondering what had happened. What did he do that made the guy uncomfortable enough to leave? 

Was it his invitation of coffee? No; Dean had initiated that. It couldn't have been that.

Was it something he said? All they'd spoken about was work and the weather- typical conversation items. 

There had been that silence for a moment, but it hadn't been extreme. It wasn't a silence that signified anything, or even an awkward silence. It was just... silence. 

Castiel  exhaled slowly, letting his hands curl around his warm mug again. 

If he ever saw Dean again, he'd apologize to him for whatever he did to make things bad. 

That chance came earlier than  Castiel  expected. 

He'd been assigned to take pictures at the city's monthly Dinner and a Show in the Park. (Also known as "Classic Films and Classic Dishes," or CFCD for short.) The experience was normally a little slow, so  Castiel  was able to get nice shots of the patrons relaxing with family and friends. 

When a particular face appeared in one of his shots,  he quickly snapped the picture, catching Dean sitting with two other people on a blanket in the grass, laughing.  Without thinking, he continued snapping quick shots of the trio, even when Dean stopped laughing and looked around, his eyes landing on the camera lens. 

When that happened,  Castiel  smiled. His hand lifted in a slight wave. 

Dean simply glanced down, then back up, then down again, like he didn't expect  Castiel  to still have the lens aimed on their group. 

Something a little sad swelled in  Castiel's  heart. He didn't understand what he had done. His fingers snapped one last picture before he moved on, dead weight in his chest. Those pictures wouldn't be seen by any eyes other than his. 

And maybe Dean's, if everything turned out right. 

As he started to walk away, a hand settled on his shoulder. It was strong, warm, and a little familiar. The touch was soothing and full of some kind of odd wonder, and  Castiel  instantly knew who it was without having to sneak a glance. 

"Dean," he greeted, glancing over his shoulder anyway. The guy just twitched a smile, eyes soft. 

"You look a little lonely." Dean replied, taking his hand from  Castiel's  shoulder and pushing it into his pocket.  Castiel  watched the action openly, enjoying the way the man's denim jeans stretched to accommodate the new addition. 

He lifted his camera slowly. "I've got company." A smile lifted the edges of his lips. "I didn't quite peg you as a guy to show up to this thing. Bit of a shocker." 

"You didn't quite _peg_ me to be anything,  Cas . It was a hook-up. One night thing. Once in a lifetime." 

Once in a lifetime.  Castiel  scoffed slightly at that. He'd never had sex that good. That was definitely a sign that it was meant to be more than once in a lifetime. "Bullshit," he muttered, fiddling with the settings on his camera as he walked, Dean following after him. 

Castiel  paused by a group of children, lifting his camera to his face as he dropped into a crouch. He smiled when a little, red-haired girl looked over at him just in time to get her pretty blue eyes in the shot. The girl smiled back after a second. 

"Look, I'm just stating the truth,  Cas . Relationships that start with sex end badly. Believe me, I know it. Been there, done that." Dean's voice followed  Castiel  as he started snapping extra pictures, ones to add to his personal collection. "I'm only saying this because I saw you back there."

"So I took pictures of you. It's my career, Dean. I'm a photojournalist. I'm supposed to take pictures. Especially pictures of people in our community."  Castiel  stated every word with vicious reason, dropping the camera onto his chest as he stood, facing Dean. His eyes bore into Dean's in slight anger, but it was mostly fake. "I'm not going to go change my career to fit your liking." 

"I wasn't talking about- Shit, man!" 

"Dean, look. I do want to relive last night, sure, but I'm not going to force you into anything. Just... Just stop. Stop thinking that I'm some kind of asshole simply because you freaked out over something I said or did. Stop thinking about me in general, I suppose. It's up to you."  Castiel  frowned at the man in front of him, his fingers working at the metal of his camera. 

His finger hit the shutter by accident, but he wouldn't realize that until later. 

"I don't think you're some kind of asshole," Dean replied. His eyes were soft again, like pillows. Green, green pillows that  Castiel  could sink into, that he could drown in. "I just freaked over nothing. You did nothing,  Cas . Nothing wrong, nothing bad. You were nice. Really nice. 

"But at the same time, I don't understand. I mean, the night was fantastic. You were fantastic. But I don't get it. Why do you want to repeat that? Repeating it may make a mess of us both." 

"Your eyes are green,"  Castiel  mumbled, not thinking. He was lost. "I like that. I could drown in those eyes." 

"You want to sleep with me  'cause  my eyes are green?" Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes and glancing over  Castiel's  shoulder. 

The eye contact broke, and so did the trance.  Castiel  licked his lips and smiled slightly. "No," he replied. He knew what they were talking about, and he knew what he'd said. Embarrassment was flooding his veins, after all. "I want to sleep with you because it felt right." 

In the morning,  Castiel  woke to an arm draped over his chest. Breath cascaded over his ear, up his cheek, and to his nose, sweet with sleep and the cheap alcohol they'd downed last night. Warmth flooded from the body pressed against  Castiel's  side, trying to lure him back into sleep like the darkness. 

Fighting the affects of his overnight friend's sleeping form,  Castiel  groaned, fingers raising to rest against the muscle of the man's upper arm. His head turned to the side as his eyes opened, finding a sleeping man facing him, but on his stomach. A smile spread across  Castiel's  face despite the fact that he hadn't had his morning coffee yet. Waking up next to someone never grew old. His fingers brushed over the skin on his arm gently, fascinated by the smooth silkiness of it and the way that it kept the animal inside. Was animal the right term? The guy was a soul, a person, not an animal... unless you thought about last night. He was definitely an animal then. The pads of  Castiel's  fingers brushed back and forth lightly until a rough voice spoke. 

"You're going to wear a hole in me if you keep that up." 

A soft laugh broke out of  Castiel . "Good morning," he whispered. He didn't mind that he hadn't apologized. He didn't have anything to apologize for. 

"Morning," Dean replied, voice slurred slightly, like he was still asleep. "Last night was-"

"-good."  Castiel  interrupted, licking his lips. 

"I was going to say awesome, but if the word fits..." Dean smiled, opening his eyes halfway. Green and gold, grass reflecting the sunlight, met  Castiel's  sunlight-through-water blue. 

"Awesome fits much better,"  Castiel  muttered, grinning now. "I like awesome much more than good." 

"Good- I mean, awesome," Dean laughed, rolling onto his back and sitting up. 

Instantly,  Castiel  missed the weight of Dean's arm on his chest. He sat up himself, hands flat against the sheets behind his hips, arms straight out. "You going to run out on me again this morning?"

"Who knows?" Dean replied, his hands running through his hair.  Castiel  took the moment to glance over his chest, watching the muscles work under skin like bodies tangled under sheets. "Maybe I will; maybe I won't. Up to the universe." 

He didn't leave that morning. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6  
> We still groped for each other on the backstairs or in parked cars  
>  as the roads around us  
> grew glossy with ice and our breath softened the view through a glass  
>  already laced with frost,  
> but more frequently I was finding myself sleepless, and he was running out  
>  of lullabies.

"I'm not saying anything, Dean," Sam replied, his voice kind of angry. Dean rolled his eyes. 

"You're obviously saying something, you son of a bitch. I know you don't like it. I know that, but I can't help it, can I?" Dean slammed the knife down. The utensil stood straight up, stuck in the cutting board by the tip. 

It was the same stupid fight every time. Just because Dean hooked up with someone, Sam got all defensive. He always did, and it was always for the same reason. 

"You're leading him on." 

"No, I'm not. The guy's nice and smart. He'd be able to tell if I was leading him on. Just deal with it, Sammy." Dean leaned against the vinyl counter, fingers curled into the cork below, arms bent at slightly awkward angles as he turned to look at his brother. "I'm pretty sure this guy knows what we're doing."

"You left C-F-C-D to go hook up with him. You got drunk with him, then hooked up with him." 

"What's a hook-up if you  ain't  drunk?" Dean quipped, tossing a dish towel at Sam, who was finishing washing apples. "It sure as hell isn't a hook-up." 

"That's your problem, Dean. You have to get drunk to get with someone." 

"I don't have to, Sam. I want to." 

"No- you have to." Sam grumbled, slamming the bowl of apples on the counter. "You're not being fair with him."

"Says Mr. I-Accidentally-Cheated-Please-Forgive-Me." Dean grumbled under his breath when Sam left the room. 

All six feet, four inches of Sam reentered the room, looking angrier than ever. "Dean, you need to be clear with this guy. Find out his intentions. Figure out your own intentions." 

"Yeah, yeah. Just shut up, Dr. Phil, and start slicing. We told your wife we'd have the apples done by the time she got home from the store." 

The two started working in sync, Sam peeling the apples carefully into the garbage disposal while Dean cubed the fruit carefully and distributed them into another clean bowl. Silence was heavy over the two after their slight fight. 

"Sam?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you know if there's another C-F-C-D next month?" 

"It'll still be summer then, Dean. I have a feeling there will be." 

"Cool. Any idea what the movie will be?" 

"I think they said it's Casablanca next." 

"Cool." 

Dean went silent again. 

They didn't speak again until the apples were done, and even then it was only because Sam asked if Dean wanted a beer. Their feet propped up on the coffee table in the living room, the two brothers did what any middle-aged man loves doing. They sat in silence, watching whatever showed up on the television, nursing two beers. 

"Why do you do this?" Sam asked suddenly. 

"Do what?" Dean asked calmly, tilting his head back as he took a swig of the cold drink in his hand. 

"Close off. We were fighting, and then all of the sudden you're fine." 

Dean sighed angrily. "Come on, Sam. We were good. We always fight. It's a perk of growing up together. Don't bring it up again." 

"According to you, we always fight, so let's keep the action going. Answer my question." 

"Ask it again." 

"Why do you close off from everyone that has the littlest ability to get close to you, Dean?"

"Because I can, Sam. Leave me alone. Let's just sit here and watch this stupid game and wait for your wife to get home." 

Sam did that thing where he exhaled angrily, glared for a few seconds, and then leaned back with his lips pursed. Dean ignored it. He'd seen it a million times; he didn't want to see it again. 

-*-*-*-

The night of the fight with Sam, Dean and  Castiel  got to know each other in the most biblical sense in the backseat of Dean's car, just off the highway. 

When they finished, Dean's fingers loosened on the leather of the seats he'd grabbed onto. His lungs worked overtime to snag a breath of air. 

In some impossible way, the two managed to get mostly dressed and into comfortable positions on the backseat without having to leave the vehicle.  Castiel  sat next to Dean, drawing little doodles on the condensation their breath had left on the window. The swirls all surrounded the palm print left by Dean from those first few times that  Castiel  had hit the spot. 

Dean took a swig from his flask before handing it out to  Castiel . The photographer shook his head slightly after glancing down at it. Swallowing the musky alcohol, Dean steeled his nerves. His hand scrubbed over his mouth. Then he spoke. 

" Cas ?"

"Yes, Dean?"  Cas  didn't turn his head to look at Dean. He just continued drawing the thin lines in their breath. 

"What is this to you?"

"Hooking up,"  Castiel  replied. "I mean, that's- that's what it is to you, right? We're just hooking up. Having sex. Nothing more. No emotional strings, no hearts involved. No mush. Can you hand me my camera? I put it on the front seat." 

Dean leaned forward to snatch the device from the seat. He handed the thing to  Castiel  by the strap. Only after  Castiel  took a picture of the window did he turn to look Dean in the eyes, and even then it was through the camera lens. 

Dean smiled slightly after the white spots in his vision went away. "I just wanted to clear things up with you. We're not in a relationship to you, even in the slightest?"

"Well, any bond is a relationship, Dean. Even a friendship is a relationship. This is just... In between what you would normally call a relationship and a friendship. We've fucked, but we aren't all over each other. We've groped, but we're not calling the other for emotional support at five a.m."  Castiel  lowered the camera as he spoke, changing the dials on it with his thumb. 

Something in  Castiel's  words struck Dean in the heart like a bullet. "Yeah," he whispered, looking at the camera. "How are you so good with that thing? I can't take a picture for the life of me." 

"It's all in the eyes,"  Castiel  replied, looking up at Dean for the first time since they'd gotten dressed. His blue eyes were dark and almost lifeless in a way. "You just have to look at things the way the camera does. For me, it's easy. I've always been looking through a lens. I don't think I ever stop looking through the lens. Everything is a photograph." 

"I like that. Maybe I should try looking through a lens every once in a while."

"It makes it easier to see the beauty in life,"  Castiel  whispers, smiling when Dean did. "Like this. This moment right here, sitting in the dark in this old car on these seats sticky with sweat, could be anything but beautiful, but it is. You see it too. You're already looking through lenses, Dean. Sure, the scent of sex is filling the car. Sure, you have yet to toss me back out at my apartment. But we're talking. We're sitting under the star-speckled sky, only we can barely see it because we're inside of your car on the seats we just had sex on, talking about the beauty of this moment as we experience it. 

"Nothing is better than that." 

It goes without saying that Dean didn't sleep that night. 

He simply stayed awake, staring at the ceiling of his room, the dripping quality of the white above him making him a little dizzy after his nightly dose of alcohol. 

Something in  Castiel's  words stuck with him. 

-*-*-*-

"I'm not going to act like something intimate happened,"  Castiel  protested, dropping his mug in the sink. "We screwed, plain and simple. It was a nice night, Hannah, but it's time for you to leave. It's the middle of the day." 

"That means nothing," Hannah whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his earlobe. "Neither of us has to work, Cassie. We could spend all day screwing..."

"Hannah, get off of me and leave."  Castiel's  voice held authority. He pushed Hannah's hands off his shoulders, making sure they dropped to her sides and didn't rise again. After turning around, her looked her in the eyes and smiled politely. "Leave, Hannah." 

Her eyes narrowed on his. "Whatever,  Castiel . I'll leave, then." 

Hannah left, and  Castiel  practically cheered. He hated her personality. She clung to him like plastic wrap and wouldn't let go. Frankly, every time they hooked up, he wanted her gone the instant they finished. It was bad. 

He didn't know what always compelled him to get with her. 

After he stepped out of the shower, there was a knock on the door. He sighed, praying to the gods above that it was not Hannah claiming she left something behind. His hand settled on the doorknob as he held up his towel with one hand, and when he opened the door, his prayers were fulfilled. 

"Hello, Dean,"  Castiel  said, a little shocked, stepped to the side to let Dean into the apartment. He took in the guy's appearance, frowning. "What's-"

"Don't talk. Please." Dean whispered, stepped toward  Castiel . His lips crashed against  Castiel's , dragging him forward.  Castiel  followed Dean into the bedroom and watched the man strip down to nothing before letting him take what he wanted. 

-*-*-*-

"Why did you show up so suddenly?"  Castiel  asked quietly, his hand pushing through his still soaked hair. "I wasn't expecting you. No text, nothing-"

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Dean whispered. That's all he'd done since he'd shown up. Whisper after whisper. "I'm not sure why I'm here. Needed a familiar face, I guess, a familiar thing to do." Then a mutter that Dean probably didn't want  Castiel  to hear followed. "God, today has been such shit." 

"Dean-"

"Just... I'll go. I'll leave you alone."

"Put on your lens, Dean." 

The man froze, sitting on the edge of the bed.  Castiel  sat up, turning so that he was facing Dean's back. Hesitantly, he pressed a kiss at the knob of Dean's freckled spine. When he spoke next, his hand brushed down Dean's arm, admiring the way he could practically feel the muscles and blood pulsing underneath, wishing to get out. 

"Put on your lens and see the good. Don't focus on the bad. Make that blurry, push it into the background. Look through the scope and see that there isn't only the horror of life around you, but that there's beauty too. Think about things you saw on your way here. Some couple on the corner, walking home together. Some plant, thriving in the middle of the sidewalk despite being walked over all day and night. The birds in the sky, tittering away like they're some kind of teenage girl. Look at the good, the beauty." 

Dean's hand lifted, covering  Castiel's . Slowly, their fingers laced together,  Castiel's  naturally cold fingers curving over the back of Dean's warm hand. The moment was soothing in a way. It was like some kind of reconciliation, but  Castiel  didn't know what was joining together again. Either way, it felt right. 

They stayed there,  Castiel  still covered by the blanket from waist down, Dean completely nude, holding hands and admiring the moment. The aura surrounding Dean's form faded into something nicer and more content than it had been before. 

Castiel  kissed the back of his neck again before sliding his fingers away, figuring the moment was too intimate and romantic for Dean. However, when he pulled away, Dean let out a sigh that sounded like it sprouted from disappointment.  Castiel's  teeth latched onto his own lip. 

"Want to try something, Dean?"

Dean turned as he stood. "Look, dude, I'm not really into that-" 

Castiel  laughed out of amusement. "No," he chuckled, "not like that." 

"Oh. Then, I guess I'm up for anything," Dean mumbled, smiling and blushing.  Castiel  had to admit to himself that he liked the way Dean's cheeks look when flushed. He quickly grabbed the camera from his bedside table, rolling over and lining up the shot of Dean. He snapped the picture, hoping it would work. 

It did. 

Dean turned at the flash, starting to protest, a brighter pink taking up home on his cheeks. He covered himself in embarrassment when  Castiel  took another few pictures with a laugh. 

"I know you've got a camera, man," Dean explained as he tugged his underwear on after  Castiel  lowered the camera. "But you can't just use it like that. What if those pics get out?" 

"They won't,"  Castiel  grinned, sliding out of bed. He pulled open a drawer and tugged out underwear and a pair of sweatpants. "Trust me, Dean. I won't let them get out. I'm not that reckless." 

"It doesn't matter if you're reckless or not-" 

"If you want me to, I can delete the ones where you're not covered up, Dean." 

There was a moment of silence. "Thanks,  Cas ." 

"You're welcome." 

"No, thank you for calming me down there. I still don't really know why I'm here and not at my brother's house or at my dad's. I just showed up here, no explanation-" 

"It's perfectly fine, Dean. I like having company." 

Dean smiled at him when he turned around, buttoning up the center of his plaid shirt. This time, the silence was calming.  "What's that thing you want to try?"

"It's more of something for you to try,"  Castiel  admitted, licking his lips and picking up his own camera after pulling on a t-shirt. "You might as well grab your shoes, too." 

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Dean obeyed  Castiel's  suggestion and stooped to grab his boots from the floor.  Castiel  smiled and ogled his ass before her stood, turning and walking out of the room just before getting caught. 

"Dude, I don't know my way around your apartment. You've got to wait for me." 

"Hurry your ass up, Winchester." 

Dean's laugh boomed through the hallway, greeting  Castiel's  ears like an old friend. A smile spread on  Castiel's  lips again as he slowed, letting Dean catch up to him. He hooked his arm through the other man's, dragging him into his own personal photo room. It was the place where he held photoshoots during off months, when nothing really big was going on in town and the newspaper didn't want or need him to take pictures. He let go of Dean's arm to take his hand instead, a little nervous about doing so, and lead him to the cabinet in the corner across the room. He held up the white sheet to let Dean through, and was just a little shocked to find Dean still had a grip on his hand. The man just smiled when he looked up from their hands. 

Castiel  smiled back and gently peeled his hand away, his fingers trading Dean's for the feel of the plastic casing of a camera. His smile widened a little as he lifted the camera, pointing it toward Dean, who stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes.  Castiel  laughed, lowering the device without taking a picture. His thumbs toyed with the dials, fixing them back to the settings for what he wanted Dean to try. 

"Okay," he sighed after a second, his chest puffing up, shoulders raised a little. His chin lowered as he looked Dean in the eyes. "I'm trusting you with my camera, Dean. You break it-"

"I buy it. I know." Dean smiled slowly, eyes soft on  Castiel's .  Castiel's  brain melted like a popsicle left in the summer sun. 

"Yeah. That... Anyway, this is an entry-grade professional DSLR camera, and you need to treat it like it's your child. Check the lens every few pictures, check the clarity, and more. Just fill the memory card on it and treat it like it's some kind of... I don't know. Treat it like a gun, I guess. One without the safety on. Treat-"

" Cas , I get it. Treat the camera like a lover. Got it." Dean smiled, holding out a hand. "You going to teach me how to use the thing or what?" 

///

Using the camera was easier than Dean had expected. 

Dean's fingers slid over the buttons easily, keeping track of every picture he took with it. 

It was less than a week before he had the memory card full. 

When he had it full, he appeared at  Castiel's  place a little upset. "I had the perfect shot this morning," he started, looking down at the camera case in his hands, "and it just kept telling me that there wasn't room on the card." 

Castiel's  grin was like the sun raining down on Dean's eyes. "You must have taken a lot of pictures,"  Castiel  slurred slightly, taking the camera from Dean's hands. "That memory card's got a lot of space." 

" Cas ?" Dean asked quietly, taking the case from him again as he entered the apartment. He hung the case by the strap on the hooks near the door, making sure it stayed there.  Castiel  stumbled over his feet slightly before Dean caught him. " Cas , answer me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah,"  Castiel  answered, but to Dean it was more of a _'_ _ Juh _ _.'_ Frowning, Dean scooped  Castiel  into his arms bridal style and carried him into the bedroom. "You want to do it?" _'_ _ Jewanna  do  ut ?'  _

"No, I do not." Dean sighed softly, sitting down next to  Castiel  on the edge of the bed. When  Castiel  moved to stand up, Dean shoved him back with a hand on his sternum. "You're staying there and going to sleep. What the hell are you doing? It's six a.m.,  Cas ." 

"I know that." _'I_ _ yo tha _ _.'_ Castiel  wiped his eyes. "I know it's early. I'm drunk, not blind." 

Dean smiled sadly at the drunk man, shaking his head. "You're fucking insane. Go to sleep." 

"No, you have a picture you want to take." 

"And _you_ have to sleep." Dean grumbled. "I'll pin you down if I've got to. Even tie you up. Go to sleep,  Cas . Sleep this off." 

"I can't. I'm not tired." 

Dean growled, turning to sit more comfortably on the bed. "Roll over," he demanded, shoving at  Castiel's  side. "No, I'm not going to fuck you. Stop looking at me like that. Roll over." 

Castiel  finally obeyed with a little grumble of an imitation of Dean. Choosing to ignore the snide comment, Dean let his hand gently rub up and down  Castiel's  spine. Before he knew it, he was singing quietly, feeling his rough voice rise from his throat in puffs of pitched air that floated around the two. 

It was an old trick he'd used to get his brother to sleep when he was ten and Sam was six. He'd discovered that rubbing a person's back and singing some kind of lullaby to them often worked best. 

_Let It Be_ came from his mouth from memory and habit, followed by _Hey Jude_ once he realized  Castiel  wasn't asleep yet. 

Castiel  rolled over onto his back just before Dean finished the second song, snoring gently, lips parted. Success. 

Dean smiled and gently patted  Castiel's  thigh before moving to get up. 

That plan was foiled when a hand curled around his and a name fell from  Castiel's  drunken, sleeping lips. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (1)  
> The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night  
> is thinking. It's thinking of love.  
>  It's thinking of stabbing us to death  
> and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.  
>  That's a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey and kisses for everyone.

When  Castiel  woke up, Dean was still next to him. He smiled slightly, wondering what they'd gotten up to this morning. His hand curled around Dean's, his thumb slowly moving against the back of his hand. All he could remember of the night was getting drunk and Dean eventually showing up, but he didn't know why. He could remember that Dean made him lay down and sang him to sleep, but nothing else.    
Dean would make a good boyfriend.    
Castiel's  eyes widened. That thought never crossed his mind. Never. Never ever. If it had, that would be bad. That would mean that  Castiel  was starting to fall into his old pattern of love. No. Nope. Never again.  "You finally awake,  Cas ?" Dean's voice was scratched, like it had been dragged over the pavement outside and beaten to a pulp. "Still drunk?"   
"No, not drunk,"  Castiel  replied quietly, his hand slowly pulling away from Dean's as he sat up. "Not at the moment. At least, I don't think I am."    
Dean's laugh echoed in the room, or maybe just in  Castiel's  eardrums. There wasn't really a difference. "Good. I almost fell asleep next to you. Would have, if you didn't talk in your sleep."    
Castiel  smiled slightly. It was just a quirk of his lips, or maybe just a quirk of his cheeks, or maybe a twitch in his nose. He didn't know the difference right now. He was too freaked. He couldn't even look at Dean. "I talk in my sleep?"   
"Yeah, you do. You should record it sometime." Dean's hand brushed against  Castiel's  back. "Got to admit, it's kind of cute, if kind of means a lot."    
The way Dean said ' gotta ' instead of 'got to' made  Castiel  smile more, or maybe made his cheeks or nose twitch again. The difference was still fuzzy. Dean's legs draped beside  Castiel's , his toes brushing against the floor, knee bent under his leg.  Castiel  glanced over when Dean's knee brushed against his thigh. "Thanks," he mumbled, chin against his chest. "Thank you for making me sober up, too, though you could have easily kept me awake and forced some water and coffee into me."    
"I didn't know where your cups were or how to work the coffee maker," Dean replied, and Castiel could tell that he was smiling by the tone of his voice. "Making you sleep seemed like the best option at the time."    
"Not quite," Castiel muttered, standing. He padded his way into the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee, or tea, or even just a good glass of ice cold water. Maybe the water would bring him to his senses.    
"Look, Cas-"   
"What're you doing here, anyway?" Castiel interrupted. Water ran over the tips of his fingers as he filled his glass from the faucet. "This obviously wasn't a social call."    
"I filled the camera," Dean sighed.    
The scrape of a chair against wood made Castiel look up. As soon as he did, he regretted it. Dean was sprawled across a chair in the kitchen, perfectly at home among Castiel's organized clutter. His eyes were sparkling, the lines on his face relatively smooth. His freckles were prominent this morning, dark against his skin, unlike the stars that probably hid underneath them. If he cut Dean's cheek, would a light so bright that it could blind a person come out instead of blood? Dean's smile cut into those cheeks and proved his point.    
"You filled it already?" Castiel asked, taking a sip of water. He prayed it would clear his mind up and not muddle it even further. "That was fast. You've had it for what? A week?"   
"Just about," Dean smiled, glancing down at the newspapers on the table. "There was a lot to take pictures of."    
"Sounds like it," Castiel scoffed. He set his glass down on the counter next to the sink. "Where's the camera at?"   
"By the door. I can get it."   
Castiel beat Dean to the doorway, jokingly shoving him out of the way. Smiling, he teased him for being so slow and clunky, tossing the remark over his shoulder as he walked to the door. The sight of what Dean had done made his stomach drop.    
"You monster," he hissed, snatching the camera off of the hook. He kicked Dean's shin. "You dare treat a chi- camera like this? Hanging it by the strap on the hook by the door? Really? That's abominable-"   
"I didn't-"   
"Why should I give you these pictures? Huh? You treat this beauty of a camera like it's a nothing. Like it means nothing to you. To think I could even consider loving you when you treat my cameras like this-"   
Castiel was interrupted by lips pressing to his, shutting him up. His body melted against Dean's, the camera forgotten in his hands. His fingers loosened on the strap until the camera clattered to the floor gently. Those fingers found solace in Dean's skin, against the man's jaw, feathers against that scratchy stubble. The kiss was long, drawn out, and slow. It was everything Castiel could love and more. The kiss was smooth like a cold beer, long like a good summer day... His eyes remained closed even after Dean pulled his lips away.    
When he opened his eyes, Castiel found that Dean was still looking at his lips. Of course, he didn't mind. In fact, he'd love it if they could kiss again. Kissing Dean again would be like going to Heaven for the second time, but that was a cliché. Kissing him again probably wouldn't happen. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, dragging the remaining taste of Dean's lips inside and savoring it.    
Their eyes met and suddenly Castiel was reminded of freshly-mown grass at the beginning of the spring, sprinkled with daffodils eager to be picked and plucked from their stems and their life source, or maybe little gold Easter eggs just waiting to be snatched up by the kids that would soon run out onto that grass and take them into their candy sticky hands and toss them into bags or baskets only to let another sprout up in its place.    
Just being near Dean made Castiel feel like he'd just reached orgasm. His chest heaved slightly, his breath heavy and thick. "Dean-"   
"Sorry," Dean whispered. "I don't-"   
This time, Castiel interrupted him.   
-*-*-*-   
Dean smiled, taking a seat next to Castiel on the couch. His hand worked up over Castiel's shoulders, his hand resting against the muscles of his upper arm. Marveling at the feeling of the muscles attempting to tear out of the olive skin holding them in, he watched as Castiel pushed the memory card into the little slot meant for it, then watched the computer load the pictures Dean had taken.    
When a few of them loaded, Dean's cheeks grew red. He ducked his head slightly, biting his cheek and looking at Castiel from the corner of his eye.    
Castiel was smiling, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Dean smiled as well involuntarily, his fingers dragging against Castiel's arm lightly. "And when did you take these, Winchester?" Castiel asked, elbow digging into Dean's ribs.    
"What?" Dean faked innocence, unable to stop smiling when he looked up at Castiel. "I didn't take anything."    
"Obviously you did," Castiel chuckled, clicking on a picture to open it.    
"I'm mediocre compared to you," Dean mumbled, pressing his lips and his nose into Castiel's hair. "I don't think anyone can be compared to you just yet."    
"Yet?" Castiel asked, his eyes wandering the picture, like he was memorizing every square inch. "Look at these, Dean. They're amazing."    
"It's just a bottle of alcohol next to a newspaper," Dean mumbled. "It's nothing special. Anyone could have taken that picture."    
"No one could have gotten it in this angle, or in this light. And all of the clutter near the back." Castiel's finger brushed against the screen, pointing at the background of the picture. "It shows more life than you'd think."    
"You like analyzing things too much," Dean sighed, kissing Castiel's scalp. "You sure you want to look at all of these?"   
"Absolutely."    
So he looked at all of the pictures. There were about two hundred pictures, maybe even more, and Castiel scrutinized every single one in detail. Every landscape, every portrait, every shadow, table, wall, painting, bed, sheet... Every square inch of proof of life in each photo was examined and taken into mind and then shown in intricate words that fell off of Castiel's lips in a tone of awe.    
The last one made Castiel fall speechless. It was simply a silhouette, but the light behind the man pictured was soft and dim, and indication of twilight or maybe dawn. His arms rose far above his head, thin but muscular as he stretched, hands flat, fingers laced together. The body the arms were attached to was thin, slim, and dressed in what looked like shorts and what Dean knew was a pair of boxers, and nothing else. The picture cut off at his knees. The light showed the buildings behind the man's form, the brick of the building in the background detailed, showing the chipped red and brown.    
Castiel's lips turned down slightly. "When did you take this?" His voice, normally strong and rough, was smooth and soft.    
Dean swallowed, glancing at the picture again. "I think it was Thursday," he mumbled, a little embarrassed. "It's not good-"   
"Dean, it's _astounding_." Castiel blinked a few times, then glanced up and met Dean's eyes. "Seriously. It's beautiful."    
Out of shyness, Dean ducked his head and curled his own shoulders inward a little. "You think so?"   
"I say so," Castiel whispered, his fingers lightly coaxing Dean's chin up. Water blue eyes drifted over Dean's, holding something that Dean never thought he would see again in their color and their happiness. "It's beautiful."   
"So are you," Dean blurted without thinking. "You're possibly the most beautiful person I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of people."   
For the third time that day, their lips locked together in a kiss.    
Something was developing between them, and it was a little frightening to Dean. He'd been down this road before. He'd been down many of these roads before, and they all lead to something that Dean didn't want Castiel to deal with. They all lead to that one thing that made it hard to escape, the one thing that forced them all away and that forced them to run back down that long road and never even look back over their shoulders to see if the thing was chasing them or not. Of course, Dean never chased after them. When he met the one he needed to be with, then they wouldn't run. If he never met them, then he never met them, and that was that.    
By the time they pulled apart this time, they'd made their way into the bedroom and lost their clothes along the way. Dean smiled down at Castiel, his lips dragging against Castiel's swollen ones, trying to soothe them in a way that he knew wouldn't work. "It's different every time," he sighed, accepting Castiel's touch like a gift. "Every fucking time."    
"Good? Bad?"   
All Dean did was moan softly in reply, working his hips against Castiel's.    
"I'll take that as good," Castiel grunted, his fingernails digging into Dean's hips. "God, that feel so _good_."   
-*-*-*-    
Coldplay drifted through the apartment, loud and clear. The tune scratched against the walls, the furniture, the floor, and the ceiling, but smoothed against the two lovers in the bedroom. They both lay hand in hand, staring at the backs of their eyelids or at each other, but neither could tell the difference between the two places they looked because either way all they saw was the one beside them, the one with the warm or cold hand, the one with the leg pressed against theirs, the one looking back at them.    
Darkness settled around them. The day had been wasted in bed and in talking, in soft whispers of praise and laughter, the soothing sound of breath escorting them into the nighttime, into the purple glow of the world outside that didn't have a moon hanging in the sky.    
It pulled Castiel into a weird dream. It was one that he woke up from in a sweat, breathing quick, his hands wandering his body and Dean's body to be sure it hadn't happened. There wasn't a puncture wound on either of them, nor was there a stain of red or green or blue or black or pink on the sheets. The only stain was the purple glow of the sky showing itself through the glass door.    
One shot of whiskey held Castiel in slumber through the night as he lay next to Dean, curled around Dean, lips pressed against Dean's arm.    
Coldplay drifted through the apartment, loud and clear, carrying the two into sleep with sparks and with love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (5)  
> It wasn't until we were well past the middle of it   
> that we realized  
> the old dull pain, whose stitched wrists and clammy fingers,   
> far from being subverted,  
> had only slipped underneath us, freshly scrubbed.   
> Mirrors and shop windows returned our faces to us,   
> replete with tight lips and the eyes that remained eyes   
> and not the doorway we had hoped for.

"Knowing you weren't there doesn't help," Castiel whispered, throwing his phone onto the bed, only to follow it. "You were almost there. I can't believe it."    
"And you were right here," Dean replied, crawling over Castiel and sitting on his lap. His legs straddled Castiel's hips, knees on either side of the guy. He leaned down to press his lips against Castiel's. "The dude could have easily found a way to get into your apartment and hide out here. You could've been a hostage."    
"At least that would have been interesting," Castiel grinned, his hands on Dean's back, smoothing down his button-up shirt. "You could have rushed in and saved me like the hero you are. Found me laying in on the couch or the bed, all tied up..."    
"Oh, believe me, I'd do more than just save you if you were tied up," Dean deadpanned, his lips dragging against Castiel's cheek. "I'd have a little fun."    
"Oh, really?" Castiel whispered, kissing Dean gently. There was no other word that could describe the kiss.    
"Yeah," Dean muttered, his fingers pressing lightly against Castiel's stubble covered jaw.    
"I can't believe that happened, though."    
"Me either."    
"You're safe, though."   
"One minute earlier," Dean whispered. "They told me one minute earlier and I wouldn't have been. Would've been toast, extra blackened."  Something scary filled Castiel's eyes. Dean licked his lips and smiled down at his now boyfriend, nuzzling his nose against his cheek. "Don't get all pissy, baby. We're both fine and alive."    
"For how long?" Castiel whispered, his lips brushing against Dean's jawline. "Neither of us is immortal. We're going to die at some point, and, in this town, it could be any second."    
"Cas, don't think like that. We're not going to die any time soon. We've got our lives ahead of us, long and fulfilling. You'll become the world's best photojournalist. I'll do something productive, shape the minds of the next generation, maybe, and we'll find love and be happy and alive. You know that."    
"I'm being realistic, Dean."    
"Cas-"    
"Normally you're the one telling me that we're not going to make it out here. What's so different about this, right here, right now?"   
Dean frowned, sitting back again. His hands fell to lay flat, palms down, next to Castiel's head. "I'm not-" He paused, taking the chance to take a deep breath. "I'm not going to act like there's nothing wrong, but do we have to do this now?"   
"Yes, we do. You almost died, Dean."   
"I didn't almost die,  Cas . I wasn't even close. They managed to get the guy to come out- or at least let the people in the club out."      
"Dean-" Castiel said, voice dripping in frustration. "You could have been in there. He killed one lady. That could have been you."    
"But it wasn't," Dean whispered, leaning down over Castiel again. He exhaled slowly through his nose, licking his lips and kissing the tip of Castiel's nose. "It wasn't me, and it wasn't you. We're alive. Let's celebrate."    
Castiel's eyelashes tangled with Dean's when they kissed, lips soft against the others. The celebration wasn't much of a celebration, due to their exhaustion. They'd been standing outside for hours in the chill of the summer night, among half of the town, staring at the club and wishing the people inside could get free without harm.    
Some guy- no one knew his name yet- had taken a gun into the club and shot a woman point-blank in the chest on the  dancefloor . Then he'd kept the rest of the club inside, packed and sweaty, as hostages.    
Dean and Castiel had been seconds from meeting at the club. They'd been seconds from potential death.    
They were exhausted.    
So they went to sleep, tangled in each other and warm.    
-*-*-*-   
When Castiel woke, he was alone. The sound of a smooth, soft voice drifted into the bedroom from the hallway, sounding like Heaven to Castiel's ears. His hands curled around the pillow in his arms, enjoying the effect Dean's voice had on his mind and body.    
Eventually, Dean found his way into the bedroom again, where he fell into bed next to Castiel and flung a warm arm over Castiel's side. Castiel smiled and rolled over, trading the pillow for an actual body. His arms circled around Dean, holding on to him tight, trying to keep him there.    
"I don't like waking up alone," Castiel whispered, voice scratching its way into Dean's chest. "Waking up alone is no fun."   
"Sorry," Dean replied, his hand drifting down Castiel's back. "I'll try not to do it again."   
Smiling, Castiel tilted his head up. His chin pressed into the collar of Dean's t-shirt as he kissed the man's stubble coated chin and accepted a kiss pressed against his own lips. "Good morning."    
"Good morning," Dean smiled, kissing Castiel's eyelids next. It was a weird- but welcome- gesture. Dean's hand latched onto Castiel's waistband. "We should go do something today."   
"We do something every day," Castiel whispered, his fingers walking over Dean's chest. "Why do we need to do something today?"   
"Because today is a new day, and on a new day, we do something new." Dean said this part with conviction, then grinned at Castiel.    
"Then let's have our something new be laying in bed all day." Castiel snuck a kiss from Dean's lips before his pout went away.    
"Who were you talking to in the hall?"   
Dean's content smile fell. "Just my brother. He's being stubborn."    
"About what?" Castiel frowned, his hand lifting to brush hair from Dean's forehead.    
"It's nothing, Cas. Don't worry about it."    
Even though Castiel could be an insensitive little fuck sometimes, he dropped it. He knew when to pick his battles.    
"I'm going to shower," he said softly, leaning toward Dean, "and then we're going to go downtown and wander around and window shop, but not buy anything. I know you like doing that." As his lips pressed to Dean's, he smiled and whispered, "Feel free to join me."    
Dean ended up joining him in the shower, and when they stepped out, Castiel got a glimpse of their reflections in the mirror. The two of them were nude and comfortable in more ways than one. Castiel paused in front of the mirror and just  stared , enjoying the image of his boyfriend next to him, arms sliding around his torso. Castiel's hands covered Dean's on his stomach. A warm, wet body pressed against his back, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind.    
Exhaling, Castiel met his own eyes in the reflection, hoping to see something- some kind of happiness, or maybe even terror for what he'd been committed to for a few weeks now- but finding nothing. Eyes were just eyes. Dean's held no portal to the soul or emotions, either. The green locked on Castiel's reflection, but went no further.    
"We're a pretty hot couple, ain't we, Cas?" Dean asked, his lips brushing against Castiel's ear. The words made Castiel smile. "I could get used to looking at us."    
Castiel grinned. "Yeah. I could too, Dean."    
-*-*-*-   
"You know," Dean mumbled, his fingers curling around Castiel's again as they left the store, "you didn't have to buy that for me."   
"You were practically _begging_ , Dean. There was no way I was going to let you walk out of there without the album."    
Dean smiled, feeling color rise to his cheeks. "Whatever, man."    
The streets were full of people rushing from one store to the next, getting ready for vacations. Dean's smile stuck to his face like it'd been placed there with nails and Gorilla Glue.    
"Dean?"   
The voice attracted Dean's attention, making him turn and meet Castiel's eyes.    
"How happy are you right now?"   
The question took Dean by surprise, making him frown for a second before he shrugged. There wasn't really a for sure answer to the question. "Uh- give me some parameters."   
"One to ten scale."   
"Chart breaking eleven," Dean tried, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth. "I'm _really_ happy, Cas, and it's not because you just bought me a new Rolling Stones album. I don't know what it is. I haven't felt this good in a long time."   
"I am too," Dean  heard , and he swore it came from Castiel's lips.    
Dean sighed, glancing up to see their reflection in a shop window. Within seconds he looked down, avoiding his reflection's eyes. He'd always been just a little scared of mirrors, so he couldn't look at reflections for too long before his mind started playing tricks.    
"Let's go back to my place, Cas," Dean suggested. "I'll cook you dinner, we can watch a movie, and maybe do a little more than that. How does that sound?"   
"That sounds great," Castiel replied, squeezing Dean's fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but it's either quality or quantity, and quantity definitely won out on this one. 
> 
> 3:  
> History repeats itself. Somebody says this.   
> History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,  
> over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.  
> ....  
> I know history. There are many names in history   
> but none of them are ours.

Back at Dean's house, Castiel enjoyed himself. He helped Dean make a dinner of whatever the hell they could find in the cabinets, which turned out to be a quick and easy dinner of pasta with vegetables, butter, and cheese.    
They settled down on the couch facing Dean's little box of a television and watched Star Wars. The first two movies were easy to get through, especially with Dean quoting them word for word, infliction for infliction. Castiel laughed at the impression Dean did of Jar  Jar  Binks, shaking his head as Dean leaned forward, lips puckered, and said, "Meesa want a kiss." When he placed his hand on Dean's forehead and shoved him away, Dean burst into gut busting laughter.    
Back in the bedroom, the only laughter that came from either of them was when the other said something so utterly ridiculous that they couldn't help it. Dean's hands worked their magic on Castiel's body, reducing him into a whimpering, moaning, sweating mess.    
Once they came up for air, Dean stole a sloppy, lazy kiss from his lips and fell next to him with a squeak of the mattress. Castiel gasped for air and words, his hands lifting to push sweaty hair off his forehead, his eyes hooded as they focused on the ceiling in the dark.    
"That was..." Dean started, then froze, obviously looking for the right words as well. "Holy shit."    
Castiel let a laugh break out of him. "I'd say."    
"I could write a fucking book on you, Cas."   
"Feel free to. I could fill eight entire portfolios with pictures of you, Dean."    
"Hell yeah, you could."    
Castiel chuckled. "Mind if I steal some underwear tomorrow morning? You kind of ruined mine and I don't think either of us are up to moving anytime soon."   
"I don't mind. The muscles in my legs are too sore to do much of anything but lay here."    
-*-*-*-   
"You're so obsessed with trying to find someone to love because you can't ever manage to love yourself, Dean."    
"Put that down."    
Well, Dean's morning was off to a great start.    
Castiel was standing at the dresser against the far wall of his room, frowning down at the underwear and sock drawer. His fingers were clutching the letter tight.    
Dean knew the letter by heart. It was from his past relationship, and it was a break up letter. He'd kept it for no particular reason other than allowing himself a reason to cry sometimes.    
The blood in his veins turned into glue when Castiel didn't move.    
"Dammit, Castiel," Dean gasped, his voice hoarse from sleep. Despite still being sore, he stood and made his way over to Castiel. He yanked the letter from his hands, wadded it into a ball, and shoved it to the bottom of the drawer, where all of the others were. "Next time I tell you to put it down, put it down."    
"That letter looks pretty fucking fresh, Dean."   
"Do you really think I'm cheating on you?"   
"I might," Castiel said in defense, glaring at Dean.    
"Are you cheating on me, Cas?"   
"You've got some guts to be asking me that."   
"Yeah, well..."   
Castiel coughed a single laugh, turning around. He was completely nude, but he seemed comfortable fighting right now. Dean threw a pair of underwear at him as he pulled his own on, frowning at his boyfriend. "Get dressed and I'll drive you home so you can think about what that letter said," Dean told him, pulling a t-shirt over his head. He tugged on a pair of jeans, buttoning and zipping them as he left the room to allow Castiel some time alone.    
When Castiel finally showed his face, he was frowning.    
"I'm not going to let you off the hook," he said softly, "but I've learned one thing in my years of one night stands, Dean."   
"Wonder if it's the same thing I've learned."   
"If they turn into more, they usually diminish into nothing."    
"Same thing I've discovered."    
"History repeats itself, Dean."    
After all they'd been through, Castiel had the nerve to tell Dean that he was going to have to go through the same thing he'd been through before. If that happened, Dean knew that Castiel would be getting something new on his face, and that thing was probably going to be a bruise.    
"Fuck history. I don't want my fucking name in history," Dean hissed. "History is shit, Cas. No one gives a fuck about history."    
  



End file.
